


Baby Boy Blaine Running Away

by fhartz91



Series: Taking Care of Baby Boy Blaine [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Play, Angst, Bondage, Dom Kurt, Dom/sub, Drabble, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sex Toys, Sub Blaine, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Blaine receives devastating news, Kurt decides to take Blaine away from his life for a while to deal with it - which may push their relationship in a direction that Kurt was initially trying to avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Blaine…”

Kurt opens the door to Blaine’s house with the key Blaine gave him, and walks inside like he lives there. The house looks empty, but it always looks empty, even when Blaine’s home – cold and slightly impersonal, regardless of the way Blaine has it furnished, all the finishing touches he put into it. If Kurt didn’t know Blaine, he would think Blaine was only renting the house. He wouldn’t realize, as most people probably don’t take the time to do, that this neatness, this order _is_ Blaine. This is the only way he can exist, with everything where it needs to be, and nothing frivolous taking up too much space. It’s more like a museum sometimes, and Blaine likes to redecorate often, rotating certain pieces of art to different areas of the house to showcase new ones. The first few times Kurt came over, he expected to see a table by the door and a clear plastic honor box, asking for donations. Usually the only way to tell that Blaine’s around is his constant piano playing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the air is full of music – jazz, classical, top 40s stuff – but right now, nothing. Just silence.

“Blaine?” Kurt waits inside the doorway a second to give his sub the chance to come out of hiding and grab Kurt’s coat. He smiles, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he counts the seconds in his head, thinking about the sublime punishment he’s going to dish out for this little infraction. Kurt knows Blaine. He knows his baby boy loves punishment. But the longer he waits, a sick feeling grows in Kurt’s stomach, tumbling around, making pits as it goes. The house is not just quiet, it’s dark. Kurt knows that Blaine should be there. Blaine is a slave to his schedule. It’s a huge part of what keeps him grounded.

Something about Blaine not being there when Kurt calls doesn’t feel right.

Kurt takes a quick glance around, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up himself. He sees a stack of mail on the coffee table in front of the couch. Kurt raises a brow, the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end.

On top of his anxiety issues, Blaine deals with a fair amount of obsessive behaviors. He wouldn’t leave his mail scattered on the coffee table. It would be physically painful for him.

“Baby boy, where are you?”

Kurt walks in slowly, sweeping his eyes around, letting details pop out at him, grab his attention.

Blaine’s keys on the floor – a definite no-no.

His coffee mug on the kitchen table, filled an inch from the top with black coffee. Kurt gives it a touch as he passes by. The ceramic is barely lukewarm, and there’s no creamer. Blaine never drinks his coffee without creamer. He’s so devoted to creamer that there’s a small basket in his fridge full of tiny creamer cups in assorted flavors – Irish cream, caramel, mocha, toffee, Girl Scout Thin Mint. (That one was Kurt’s addition. He saw it on the table at a Denny’s and immediately thought of Blaine.) Blaine’s jacket is hung over the kitchen chair, one arm sliding off, pulling the whole thing slowly towards the floor. Kurt catches it and fixes it, smoothing out the wrinkles in the shoulders.

“Baby…?” Kurt calls, the sentence cut off by muffled sniffles coming from the direction of the bedroom. Kurt’s body reacts to the sound, his heart quickening, his palms sweating, his teeth grinding. He knew it. Someone from the club, or some other asshole that Blaine’s way too nice to at work, followed Blaine home. Blaine is always afraid that’ll happen. People were repeatedly taking advantage of him, forcing what they wanted on him. But Blaine’s home is his sanctuary, and as far as Kurt knows, only he and Blaine have keys to it. If someone made it this far, if someone hurt him…

Kurt storms in, prepared to do some damage, but Blaine’s alone, sitting on the end of his bed with a piece of paper in his hands, a torn envelope on the floor at his feet, the expression on his face – shock, nausea, and overwhelming distress.

Kurt is relieved to see him, safe and alone, but he doesn’t feel any better about finding him this way. A man coming after Blaine, ready to physically hurt him, _that_ Kurt can handle. But Kurt can’t see anything wrong at first glance, except for the letter, wrinkled and watermarked, probably from tears.

It has to be the letter.

What the hell’s in that letter?

“Blaine?” Kurt walks in carefully, approaching Blaine the way he does whenever Blaine is anxious or scared, like he’s a lost and wounded French Bulldog. “Blaine, is everything alright?”

Hearing Kurt’s voice causes Blaine to take a sudden breath, as if he had been holding it until Kurt came in, or as if time had stopped for Blaine, and Kurt, coming on to the scene late, hadn’t noticed.

“Blaine…” Kurt takes a step toward the bed, not directly in front of Blaine, but to his right so he can sit beside him, “are you hurt? Do you need my help?”

“They didn’t…” Blaine starts, the words a whisper, his voice raw from crying, maybe yelling.

“Who didn’t what?” Kurt asks, eyes darting down, trying to get a peek at the letter, sure that all the answers are in there.

“ _He_ didn’t…” Blaine says, and Kurt goes back to grinding his teeth. A guy. Some guy did this. Some guy wrote Blaine this letter and put him in this position. Kurt has had about enough of the guys in Blaine’s life especially.

Except, Kurt’s been the only guy in Blaine’s life for a while now. So what _he_ could Blaine mean?

If Kurt could get a peek, then he’d know who he’d have to kill, but Blaine’s hands are closed around the letter, crumpling it more.

“Who, Blaine?” Kurt asks, hoping for a name, any name. Kurt knows about most of the assholes in Blaine’s past. Just one name, and he could hit the ground running.

“My dad,” Blaine says, turning to look at Kurt. “He didn’t…he didn’t tell me that she…” Blaine stops. His lips quiver. He looks like he’s trying to remember how to speak and breathe at the same time. “She died, Kurt. My…my mom’s…she’s dead.”

Blaine’s body starts to collapse, curling in at the shoulders and falling forward, the note in his hands wadding as he brings his hands to his face. Kurt rescues the letter before Blaine rips it, and manages to put an arm around him as well, drawing him into the circle of his embrace.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt says, shushing him gently. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”

Kurt feels Blaine’s body heave, and then he sobs, burying his head into his Dom’s side and crying out everything inside of him – every ounce of strength, every tear, every single breath.

Kurt fumbles the crinkled letter in one hand, smoothing it out on the leg of his jeans and holding it up to his face. He hasn’t seen this handwriting before, but it’s neat and, if Kurt knew anything about analyzing handwriting, he would say somewhat pretentious.

“Hey, baby brother,” Kurt reads to himself. “I’m dropping you a line because I didn’t see you at the funeral, and everyone is wondering where you’ve been.”

Kurt drops his head back on his neck. He wants to scream. What a fucking lead in. How the hell does anyone justify starting a letter like that? Kurt had thought better of Cooper. From what Blaine had told Kurt, he seemed like a standup guy - a little loopy and self-absorbed, but with a somewhat good head on his shoulders, and a particularly soft spot for Blaine. Then again, Blaine was way too sweet to judge anyone he loved harshly. For all Kurt knew, the real Cooper Anderson could be a self-centered douche who used his brother the same way everyone else did. Wasn’t he the one that got Blaine caught up working for that scum bag in that dive piano bar downtown? Even if not, how could this prick be so insensitive?

“I wanted to call you, but I’ve been sort of incommunicado lately.” Kurt rolls his eyes. Cooper’s an actor – a struggling actor as of late. He’s been bunking at a friend’s last Blaine heard, so he probably didn’t have a cell phone. But he couldn’t have sent a letter _before_ this one?

“I asked dad if he’d heard from you, but he didn’t have much to say. I take it you guys aren’t exactly on speaking terms. Still, I would have thought you’d show for mom’s funeral. You know how much she always cared about you. What happened between you and dad - that wasn’t her fault. There wasn’t anything she could have done about it. You know dad did this. But she stuck up for you, Blaine. You could have at least paid your last respects. She deserved it.”

Kurt puts the letter down. He can’t read any more. He can’t see Blaine crucified in print for something he didn’t intentionally do.

Blaine and his parents had had a perfect relationship up until the fight at the Sadie Hawkins dance. Compared to Cooper, Blaine was his father’s golden child - a talented musician, but on the fast track to a distinguished career in business, law, or medicine.

Blaine and his father hadn’t decided on one yet.

When Blaine came out, he was comfortable telling his parents first. Blaine’s mom didn’t care, as long as her son was happy. Blaine’s dad seemed to handle him being gay well enough, as long as he didn’t act it, and as long as no one really knew. But no matter what, they loved their son. They’d go to any lengths to protect him. After Blaine was attacked, his parents jumped into action. They pulled him out school, pressed charges on the school and his attackers, and put Blaine into counseling.

Blaine’s father wouldn’t admit it out loud, but to a point he had hoped that this horrendous attack would be the thing to cure Blaine of his silly need to join this ridiculous trend of homosexuality. In the new, more academically stringent school that his parents found for him, they could put Blaine back on the road he had been on, and everything would go back to normal.

Blaine’s father would get his golden child back, and the Anderson’s would live happily ever after.

But when the hubbub died down and Blaine didn’t go immediately back into the closet, his father started resenting him, especially when he began receiving attention for being brave, for being a survivor, for being active in the LGBT+ community on his new school campus.

When things changed again, when Blaine reverted and started shutting people out, his father was quick to pull away since he had a plausible excuse.

Everyone would blame Blaine. No one would blame him.

It was like the flipping of a switch, it happened so fast.

As far as Kurt knows, Blaine and his father haven’t spoken for longer than ten minutes at a stretch in years, and most of those conversations were one-sided arguments – Blaine’s father calling to make sure his son was still weak, still gay, and still a failure by his standards.

Kurt feels Blaine crumbling; with each sob he falls further and further apart. He feels all the work they’ve done unwinding, and he knows that they can’t stay here. Blaine needs out. They need away from here. They need to go.

“Blaine?” Kurt bends to look in Blaine’s eyes. “Blaine, we’re going to go. I’m taking you away. For the next few days.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt with watery eyes, bloodshot but grateful, before he starts to dissolve again.

“I…I have students,” Blaine argues. “I have…”

“Nothing that can’t be rearranged,” Kurt demands.

Blaine’s whole body is trembling, but Kurt can very clearly feel him shake his head.

“B-but, I…”

“Blaine,” Kurt says sternly, pinching Blaine’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, and staring deep in his eyes, “we’re going. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

Blaine looks dazed for a second, then he nods.

“Alright,” he says, wiping at his eyes with his fingertips. “Okay. I’ll just call…”

“I’ll take care of that,” Kurt says, cutting him short. “Just pack.”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine says - and there he is. Blaine’s sub side, taking over, following Kurt’s direction, trusting Kurt to take care of him. Kurt gives Blaine a squeeze and a kiss on the top of his head.

He does it without thinking, but he can’t take it back now, so he lets it go.

“Are you going to be alright in here alone while I take care of business?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine answers quietly, sitting up. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Kurt says, unwinding his arm and letting go. “I’ll just be a second, so pack fast.”

“I will, Sir.”

Kurt rushes through the house to Blaine’s office and sits at Blaine’s desk. Kurt’s only been in this room a handful of times. It’s starker than the rest of the house, and reminds him of the office of a medical specialist – like the oncologist he and his parents had to talk to when Kurt was eight and his mother was dying of breast cancer.

Regardless to say, Kurt’s not very fond of Blaine’s office, but when Blaine wants to be dominated in there, Kurt does it without any complaints.

Blaine’s life is so set, so organized, that Kurt can find everything he needs without having to ask. Blaine keeps his calendar open on his laptop, which sits dead center of his blotter. It’s not passworded, which Kurt doesn’t exactly approve of, but Blaine doesn’t take his laptop anywhere. He still plans on debating that with Blaine when he’s up to it, but for the moment, he’s thankful.

Kurt goes through Blaine’s calendar, clicking on the full boxes (which ends up being Monday through Friday, and half of Saturday) and starts calling students.

“Yes, Mrs. Kazinski? Yes, hello. I’m calling on behalf of Blaine Anderson. Your daughter Haley has a violin lesson with him tomorrow at two? Yes, he’s going to have to cancel. There’s been a death in the family…Thank you. I’ll let him know.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh? My name is Kurt Hummel, calling on behalf of Blaine Anderson. Your son Peter has a piano lesson scheduled for Thursday at one. I’m going to need to cancel. There’s been a death in the family…”

“Hello, Ms. Daly…”

“Ms. Kerrigan, hi…”

“My name is Kurt Hummel, and I’m looking for Margaret Simmons? Are you Margaret Simmons?”

Kurt calls approximately 15 students in all, and speaks to three machines. If Kurt hadn’t appreciated how devoted Blaine was to teaching before, he definitely does now. His private lessons barely cover the cost of putting food on his table, but he gives them anyway.

That’s the definition of _labor of love_.

Kurt looks at the screen of Blaine’s laptop, the row of boxes cleared of their names and dates, and wonders – does this qualify?

What Kurt does for Blaine – he knows it’s above and beyond.

He hates making phone calls.

He rarely does pickups.

He doesn’t play Daddy to anyone else.

He holds Blaine in the highest regard, and he actually looks forward to the time they spend together, even though he knows it will end in coloring most likely, which he hates.

But does that mean he loves Blaine?

He feels like it does. Maybe this trip will give Kurt the opportunity to find out.

He doesn’t even know why he thought of it. Any other sub, he’d recommend extra sessions. But he watched Blaine losing his grip on reality, and knew the man needed to get away.

And Kurt wanted to be there for him when he did.

No, Kurt needed to.

Kurt had only planned on taking Blaine away for a few days, three at the most, but he clears Blaine’s week, just in case. He has the start of a plan forming in his head – to get Blaine away, but also to try and fix this, in some tiny measure.

He knows Blaine enough to know _what_ he needs to do; it’s the delivery he’s hoping won’t be too difficult to pull off.

Kurt walks down the hallway to check on Blaine and hears him crying again. He finds Blaine sitting where he left him, staring down at his hands, suitcase open, with a single pair of black socks inside. Kurt’s heart clenches. Even if he didn’t have these complicated emotions for Blaine – emotions that make his stomach spin and his head whirl, feelings that make him want to hold Blaine when he might normally tell anyone else to, “Buck up and deal with it” – he knows how Blaine feels. He remembers all those times he sat by his mother’s bed in the hospital, praying she would get better, that the radiation would work the way it was supposed to this time around. Or when he sat by his father’s bed, after he had his heart attack, unconscious, a teenage Kurt sure he would never wake up.

“Blaine?” He walks a few steps in and sees that while Blaine looks like he’s staring down at his empty hands, he’s actually looking at a photograph of him and his mom on the teacup ride at Disney. Blaine, probably only eight or nine, is pulling on the steering wheel, spinning the cup as fast he can, while his mom has her head thrown back, eyes squinted shut, hair blowing, laughing to the point of tears.

Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, carefully curling his fingers around it in a way that doesn’t disrupt the picture.

“I’m going to go ahead and get this finished for you,” Kurt says quietly, hoping he’s not losing Blaine as time goes on. “Then I’m going to put everything into my Navigator, and we’re going to go. Alright?”

Blaine nods. He’s too tired to talk. If Kurt wasn’t there, he’d just sit on his bed till nightfall, and then keep sitting until tomorrow. Then tomorrow…well Blaine isn’t sure what would happen then.

Kurt sets to work, like he did in the office. He packs the suitcase with clothes – jeans, shirts, bowties, pajamas, socks, underwear, and Blaine’s toiletries. From underneath Blaine’s bed, Kurt pulls out two more bags. He loads one up with Blaine’s favorite toys, vibrators, plugs, floggers, cuffs, the things that bring him relief; the go-to items he chooses the most. In the other, Kurt stuffs comfort items: his red blanket, his lion stuffie, his favorite movies (because Kurt doesn’t own any of the crap that Blaine watches), his iPod, and the framed photographs he keeps on the nightstand by his bed – pictures of him with his brother Cooper, as children and as adults; pictures of Blaine singing with his choir in high school; a sweaty, shirtless Blaine standing in the ring after winning a boxing match, a referee holding Blaine’s gloved hand up in the air while a crowded auditorium is on their feet, applauding (that one is Kurt’s favorite); and an old family portrait the Anderson Clan had taken over Christmas when Blaine was about twelve. As Kurt loads them into the bag, something small and thin falls from the corner of one of the frames. It seems so insignificant, he’d never noticed it before. He debates leaving it, but it has to be important to Blaine if it was right by his bed, so he reaches down and picks it up. He knows it’s photo paper the second he touches it. He figures it’s a snapshot or something, maybe from one of those photo booths in the mall.

Until he turns it over.

It’s a picture of him. Of his face. He recognizes it right away. It’s from his website. Blaine had printed up the picture of Kurt’s face from his homepage.

But Kurt changed that picture months ago.

Even though you can’t really take anything off of the Internet once it’s there, Blaine might have printed it months ago. It’s not uncommon for subs to get attached to their Doms, but could Blaine have fallen for him?

And that long ago?

Kurt wants to think about that, but he doesn’t have the time. Maybe he can consider it on the drive. He shoves the square photo in the corner of the portrait frame and stuffs it in the bag.

“Come with me,” Kurt says, shouldering the smaller bags and grabbing the suitcase. “I don’t want you in here alone.”

Blaine doesn’t answer, but he obeys, getting off the bed and following his Dom through the house, fixing his own infractions along the way – putting his coffee mug in the sink, picking up his house keys, and tidying the mail.

“Good boy, Blaine,” Kurt says every time he stops to fix something, even if it does eat into their time, but these little things are important.

They’re tiny signs that inside Blaine is a man who’s still fighting, who’s eventually going to be okay.

Kurt leads Blaine out of the house, pausing at the door to lock it behind them. His sub waits patiently, not inclined to go on ahead to Kurt’s SUV, and not because he hasn’t been commanded to. Blaine needs Kurt. He trusts Kurt. Whatever Kurt has planned, Blaine’s along for the ride, because he’s known for a while now that Kurt has his best interests at heart.

Blaine’s been with Kurt longer than he has been with any other Dom.

With any other person in his life, really.

And he doesn’t want that to change.

“Let’s get you in the Navigator,” Kurt says, lugging the bags to his vehicle and gesturing for Blaine to climb inside. “We’re going to be driving for a couple of hours before we get to our destination, so do you want anything before we leave? A snack? A juice box? Your blanket?”

“No, Sir,” Blaine says, climbing into the passenger seat. He reaches for the seat belt, but Kurt gets it before Blaine does. “I’m alright.”

Kurt looks in Blaine’s face, into his hazel eyes that are normally glowing every time Kurt sees him. But they’re more dull now, his body slumped to one side of his seat, his hands still clutching that photograph in his palm.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, “I want you to listen to me. Everything’s going to be alright. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine says, monotone.

“Do you believe me?”

Blaine swallows hard before he answers.

“Yes, Sir,” he says.

Kurt knows that’s a harder question for Blaine to answer. This trust Blaine has in Kurt, it seemed to come on suddenly, but that’s because Blaine is a naturally obedient sub, so willing to be pleasing and to serve. But the truth is earning Blaine’s complete and utter trust took Kurt a while – not as long as he thinks, but it still took some time - and they’ve gotten to the point where Blaine trusts Kurt with everything: his property, his schedule, his mind, and his body.

“Good,” Kurt says, checking Blaine’s seat belt one last time. “Just sit back and try to relax. Go to sleep if you can. When we get to where we’re going, we’ll get to work.”

Blaine nods sleepily. He’d been exhausted for hours before Kurt got there, but he waited. After he read that letter, he needed to see Kurt before he could move forward, think rationally again, or fall to pieces – whichever one came first.

Kurt closes the door for Blaine, realizing this would have been the perfect moment to kiss him, but if that’s what their relationship is about to become, it’ll have to wait. He climbs into the driver’s seat of his SUV, and without another word, pulls out of the drive, heading towards the highway. Plans come together quickly, solidifying in his head as he takes the road that will lead them home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story now has amazing artwork thanks to freakingpotter! http://lady-divine-writes.tumblr.com/post/140373569797/taking-care-of-baby-boy-blaine

Kurt drives straight for the on-ramp. He doesn’t worry about going home and getting any of his things. He has an overnight bag in his trunk, something his father taught him to keep on hand for emergencies. It became a habit that’s saved his butt a few times already, and that he’s never grown out of. Besides, where they’re headed, he’ll be able to get stuff if he needs it. He’s not all that concerned. He needs to drive without stopping for now. He has a goal in mind, a destination he wants to get them to, but he’s not going to make it by nightfall, especially considering they started out late in the afternoon. He’s going to have to stop off part of the way, at a place where Blaine can defrag and not worry about anything. A place where he can simply rely on his instincts, and his Dom to take care of him.

A place where he can cry, scream if he needs to, without having to worry about who might hear.

Kurt juggles his choices in his head, and while he thinks them through, they drive in silence. He reaches for the radio once or twice, but pulls his hand back, and Blaine never does. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t cry - he doesn’t do anything. He sits with his forehead resting against the window, eyes aimed at the sky. Kurt can see them in the reflection of the glass when they drive under an overpass. Blaine may have his gaze directed at the sky, but he’s not looking at it. 

Blaine looks wrung out, so torn down, so…

Kurt stops himself from thinking _broken_ because Blaine has worked hard not to be seen that way. But it’s difficult when that’s the first word that leaps to mind.

Bent, Kurt decides. That’s it. He’s bent, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.

Kurt hopes.

Kurt wants to talk to Blaine, wants Blaine to open up and let it all out. Blaine’s always been quiet, but this is a bit unnerving. Kurt feels like he’s witnessing this man unravel. He prays he has the tools to put him back together.

Faith. Kurt needs to have faith in himself and in Blaine. Blaine’s a fighter. Kurt’s always believed it. Now, he has to give Blaine the opportunity to prove it.

So Kurt leaves Blaine be and lets his mind put together a vengeance plan on Blaine’s behalf. Kurt knows Blaine’s battles aren’t his to fight, but it’s getting harder not to want to every time Kurt sees him and learns about another man that’s broken his heart.

Kurt’s beginning to feel like he’s living in a Michael Cera movie.

Blaine is as strong a man as he can be, and getting stronger every day. It’s a slow process, but it doesn’t have to go any faster than Blaine can comfortably manage. Kurt reminds Blaine of that every time he sees him slipping. Nowadays, Kurt catches it before Blaine even mentions it, and has a reassuring word to keep him standing tall. But there are some fights too big for Blaine. They might always be. The guy who attacked Blaine in high school is definitely one of those. Man, oh man, but Kurt has some of the most disturbingly arousing dreams that consist of finding this guy and punching him so hard in the face that his eye socket caves in. Blaine’s brother might be one of those also, but Kurt wouldn’t punch him quite as hard. Just hard enough to remind him that he should have been a better brother, should have been around more when Blaine needed him, and for more than a handout.

Blaine’s father – absolutely. Kurt has no qualms about kicking the shit out of an old man, provided he deserves it, and Mr. Anderson has proven that he does - in spades.

About three hours in to their journey, the sun has close to set, and they’ve crossed the border into Yuma. Kurt knows they’re roughly about twenty minutes away from their first stop, and just in time, because his ass is ten levels of numb and Blaine looks like he’s become one with the passenger side door. He hasn’t spoken the entire trip, not even to ask to use the bathroom, and as far as Kurt can tell, he hasn’t moved an inch. Kurt’s stomach starts to growl, and he’s surprised when Blaine’s doesn’t also. It’s like whatever’s been keeping Blaine going, it simply ground to a halt, and there Blaine stayed, waiting for the next time Kurt told him what to do.

Kurt didn’t think things like dinner through before they left, or he would have grabbed some stuff out of the cabinets in Blaine’s house. Kurt’s not a huge fan of drive-thru dining, but he manages to find a place along the way that sells halfway decent food – chicken, potatoes, green beans, corn bread, and Blaine’s favorite, macaroni and cheese. Since it’s only for one night, Kurt doesn’t see the harm. They also sell apple juice boxes on the kids’ menu for way too much, but Kurt buys a bunch anyway. Blaine’s not up for a trip to the supermarket, and Kurt has no intention of leaving him alone to go shopping.

They drive for another ten minutes, with the smell of food torturing Kurt to no end, but he’s not about to eat in his car. No one eats in Kurt’s Navigator...unless Blaine needs to. He’d let Blaine eat all he wanted if he asked, and worry about cleaning the seats later.

But Blaine doesn’t.

They pull off the highway as the sun drops below the horizon. But there’s a full moon out, and, since there’s little in the way of street lights here, stars as far as the eye can see. This is the way Kurt assumed San Diego would be when he first moved out there, and some places are, but most are so disappointingly populated that the only way to come by a view like this is by driving out to the desert. But here, you blink your eyes and boom – the galaxy at your doorstep.

Too bad Arizona gets so fucking hot in the summer or Kurt might actually consider a change. He’s been stuck in one place for so long now, doing something different could be good for him.

He glances to the seat beside him when he hears a shift and a creak, his eyes flicking to his right in time to catch Blaine sigh.

Then again, perhaps not.

Kurt takes a few off-beaten roads, driving deeper and deeper into an area that rolls out past RV parks and campgrounds, till he reaches a single row of divided bungalows, each one situated about a mile apart from its neighbor. Kurt peeks over at Blaine and notices his eyes lift up with a spark of barely-there interest.

“Well,” Kurt announces, encouraged by Blaine’s reawakening, “we’re here.”

Kurt wishes Blaine would ask, “ _Where’s here?_ ” but he doesn’t.

Kurt would even forgive the omission of his title if he could hear Blaine’s voice.

Kurt takes the final road in, circling around a few times down roads you can’t see until you’re right up on them, giving the impression that the bungalows are set back and apart further from the main road than they are. Or maybe the illusion is that they’re closer than they should be. It’s odd how it works, and changes with the light at different times of the day. When he was younger, it severely messed with his head. It’s like something out of a horror movie, where you think you’re going one way, with help a stone’s throw ahead, to discover that the ground you’re running toward is really a gorge, and it’s only perspective that made it seem like something else was there. His mom used to say that was the nature of the desert, to make them see things differently than they did in their quiet suburb of cluttered cul-de-sacs, with their neighbors living within arm’s reach.

Kurt didn’t understand what she meant by that, and was waiting for the day she could explain it a little better.

That day never came.

They pull up to a bungalow marked _57_ , and Kurt parks a few feet from the door. There’s no real landscaping for him to disturb – no grass, no plants, no tanbark, not even a decorative cactus. It’s almost as if someone dropped this small house down in the dirt and kept going, plopping another one down when they felt like it, and continuing on that way. It’s a nice, secluded hideaway from civilization, containing only the things someone would need to escape their scattered lives and put the pieces back together, which is why it’s the first place that came to Kurt’s mind.

Kurt gets out of the vehicle, and walks to Blaine’s door, unlocking, unbuckling, and helping his sub out. Blaine goes willingly, pliant to Kurt’s commands even if they are unspoken. He understands what’s expected. He’s to follow Kurt without question. That’s all.

Kurt takes a second to grab their bags before he leads Blaine to the door. He’s ridiculously bogged down, but he’d rather not make multiple trips. Now that he’s out of the driver’s seat, he’s not eager to see his SUV again until morning.

“Okay,” Kurt says, opening the door and walking in ahead of Blaine, setting their bags on the wood floor inside. “Go sit on the sofa. I’m going to give the place a look around.” Kurt flips on the lights and locks the door, motioning Blaine towards a red, microfiber, fold-out couch, sitting in front of an old glass coffee table and a new flat-screen TV.

“Alright, Sir,” Blaine says, taking a seat in the lit living room while Kurt works at getting them settled. He wants to check the place out thoroughly, make sure that it’s relatively the same as when he used to come here with his parents. He doesn’t need any surprises.

The bungalow is just a box of a house really, with a handful of rooms, most of which can be seen from the living room – kitchenette, bathroom, bedroom, laundry. Kurt has many fond memories of this place, but he hasn’t been here in…God, he can’t even remember. Probably not since he moved to California, that’s for sure, though, ironically, this place was one of the reasons why he came out west this far. It was his safety net – a place he knew he’d be able to stay if he couldn’t pull down a full-time job.

He rushes through, making sure all the lights are turned on, that the bathroom’s clean, and the bed’s made. The sheets are different, as well as the bedspread. The towels are white instead of brown, and the wallpaper has been taken down and replaced with a neutral eggshell paint, but otherwise, it’s exactly how he remembers it, like he could have walked through the front door yesterday, and not close to a decade ago.

He wonders who does the upkeep on the place. In all the time he’s been coming here, he’s never thought to ask.

Kurt unpacks the things Blaine will need for the evening – a pair of pajamas, a change of underwear, his toiletry kit, his comfort items. He doesn’t put the photographs up. He doesn’t want to drudge up any memories for Blaine. Kurt knows how much of a trigger the wrong photograph can be. Kurt wants Blaine to have a night of calm. Besides, he doesn’t want to let Blaine in on the fact that he knows about the picture Blaine keeps of him. Whatever secret is wrapped up in his printing out that photograph and putting it by his bedside, Kurt wants him to keep it a little longer.

“This is primarily a vacation property,” Kurt says, starting conversation when the silence becomes oppressive, “that my mom and dad bought into decades ago. Apparently, it used to be part of some New Age meditation retreat in the 70s. Now, it’s prime real estate, believe it or not.”

Kurt doesn’t wait for a response. He knows it’s not going to come.

Kurt picks up Blaine’s schedule from where it left off. Blaine’s schedule is of the upmost importance to him, and Kurt doesn’t want Blaine to have his life upset any more than it has been already today. Kurt sets Blaine’s dinner on the coffee table in front of him, using a green stoneware plate that he happened to find in the cupboards, cursing at himself for forgetting to grab Blaine’s favorite Beatrix Potter plate when he packed his things. Maybe he can pick up something tomorrow that Blaine will like as much, though Kurt’s pretty sure Blaine favors the Peter Rabbit plate he eats his meals off of every night because it was given to him by his mother.

In that case, maybe it’s a good thing he forgot it after all.

“We’re going to stay here overnight and head out in the morning,” Kurt remarks, but he feels like he’s talking to himself. He fixes himself a plate and sets it down beside Blaine’s, but he doesn’t sit right away. He stands and looks at Blaine staring at the food in front of him, but not eating it.

“Blaine? You can eat, you know. You have permission.”

“I know, Sir,” Blaine says, quiet but clear. “Thank you, Sir.”

And that’s the end of that.

Kurt takes a seat at the sofa and digs in to his meal, eating like he hasn’t had a bite of anything for days when it’s only been a few hours. He’s starving after all the emotional upheaval, the rush to get Blaine out of his house, the long drive to Arizona, and Kurt’s beginning to feel it collapse in on him. A half hour later, Kurt’s plate is nearly licked clean, and Blaine still hasn’t touched any of his food. But it’s getting close to bedtime, and Kurt has to keep him going. He can’t let him sit on the sofa and stagnate. If he does, Blaine won’t want to get up again.

Kurt knows what that’s like first hand.

“Okay, baby boy, it’s time for your bath,” Kurt says, taking Blaine’s arm and tugging up. “You know, I really wish you would have eaten something.” Kurt works on the buttons to Blaine’s shirt while he talks. “Now you’re gonna wake up in the middle of the night because you’re hungry and…” Kurt watches Blaine’s eyes, unmoving before, lower in shame. Kurt back steps in his mind, paying closer attention to what he’s doing, how he’s talking. He’s condescending, like he’s speaking to a child, which is what he always does with Blaine. Blaine responds to it. Except now, he looks hurt by it. Embarrassed, even. “It’s alright,” Kurt continues, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “If you get hungry later, I’ll fix you something, hmm?”

Blaine nods, but he doesn’t say anything.

Kurt runs Blaine’s bath water, adds a cap of Mr. Bubble, and sticks Blaine in. It’s soothing doing this for him. It helps Kurt relax. He wishes he knew that it was doing the same for Blaine. Blaine sits perfectly still while Kurt washes him, moving obediently when Kurt tells him to, but otherwise gives no indication that this is helping him at all. On the drive out here, Kurt waited for Blaine to drop. So far, he seems locked in sub space, but Kurt doesn’t know. He’s never suffered from this much self-doubt before, not this amount in one frickin’ day, and it’s frustrating the hell out of him.

Kurt doesn’t let Blaine linger in the cooling water for too long with the hour getting later. He rinses Blaine off, gets a towel around him, and helps him dry. He moisturizes him, kneading tight muscles as he applies Blaine’s favorite oatmeal lotion to his skin, treating the day like one huge, trying session, with this bedtime routine as aftercare. He helps Blaine into his pajamas, then changes into an old pair of sweat pants and a white tank. He opts for a shower in the morning to avoid the chance that the warm water might wake him up instead of make him sleepier. He sits Blaine on the bed, climbing behind him so he can deep condition his hair. Blaine’s hair is well cared for, his locks in exceptional condition, so this is more of an excuse to touch him than actual mane maintenance.

“There” - Kurt runs his fingers through Blaine’s curls - “we’ve got you all washed and dried and conditioned. What do you want now, hmm? Should I put on one of your movies? Get you a snack?” Hidden behind Blaine’s back, Kurt’s lip curls. “Did you want to _color_?”

“No, Sir. None of that, if you don’t mind,” Blaine says with a sad shake of his head. “I think…I want to go to sleep. It’s been kind of a long day.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, lifting up the blankets and watching Blaine crawl underneath. “Is there anything you _do_ want before bedtime?”

Blaine thinks for a second.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me,” Kurt says, turning off one overhead light, and making sure a few other softer ones, including Blaine’s half-moon shaped night light – a relic from his childhood – stay on.

“Would you answer a question for me, Sir?”

“Sure,” Kurt says, climbing under the blankets with his sub, “if I can.”

“Do you think” - Kurt sees Blaine drumming his fingers, gathering his thoughts together, except it’s not drumming, Kurt has realized over time, but scales. When Blaine thinks, he performs his scales, back and forth on any obliging surface, starting with (as far as Kurt can tell) C major - “in a different world” - Blaine laughs nervously - “would you, you know, go for a guy like me? If we were…equals?”

Kurt’s brow wrinkles when he hears that word. “What makes you think you’re not my equal?”

“All of this,” Blaine says in a tone bordering on sarcasm. “The coloring and the juice boxes and the stuffed animal and the security blanket…the _everything_ you do for me. You take care of me when I can’t.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not my equal,” Kurt says. “That doesn’t make me somehow above you, Blaine. You are who you are. That’s not a bad thing. And who knows? You might change your mind, change your identity, you might find something new that works for you…but whatever you do, it’s up to you.”

“Would you still like me if I did?” Blaine asks. “I mean,” he hurries before his Dom can cut in without hearing him through, “I was reading a blog on the Internet, written by subs, and this one said that in order to attract the person you want, you have to _be_ the kind of person that person would want. So, say, if your ideal person is healthy, you have to be healthy. If your ideal person is confident, you have to be confident, and so on. The problem is, I don’t know how to be different than this just yet, but, should that keep someone from wanting me? Do I end up with a person exactly like me then? Because…I can’t take care of someone else right now. But that wouldn’t matter because no man goes into a relationship wanting a project, and I…I think I’m a pretty big project, Sir…” The sentence doesn’t end completely, the thought left half-expressed, but it drops with Blaine’s eyes to the blanket, as if the rest of it is missing there, lost among the fibers.

“Blaine, maybe those requirements exist for certain people, but not for everyone,” Kurt says. “I think that some people are meant to find each other in life, for whatever reason. You don’t have to work at it, necessarily. You just have to let it be.” Kurt waits, pausing to gauge Blaine’s reaction, but he can’t tell if Blaine believes him. “And you’re not a project, Blaine. You’re a wonderful guy. And yes, I’d still…” Kurt trips over saying, _“want you,”_ and instead comes out, “like you.”

Kurt isn’t sure that Blaine is ready for that revelation.

Kurt doesn’t know if he’s ready to make it.

“Then, would you be willing to do something for me, Sir?” Blaine asks. “Maybe not right now…but someday?”

“That depends what it is,” Kurt says. “Because I have limits, too.”

“I know, Sir,” Blaine says. “But, would you ever consider…” Blaine’s eyes drift up to Kurt’s mouth before he finishes his sentence, “kissing me?”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Kurt asks, his chest suddenly feeling too cramped for his heart and his lungs to fit altogether. Something would need to give if Blaine was going to continue to talk to him this way. “Because, you know, that could change things between us.”

“I know,” Blaine says in a voice Kurt hasn’t heard before. It’s smooth, confident. It makes Kurt’s head tingle because he’s never heard Blaine talk about anything so decisively before. “I _want_ things to change, Sir. I think…they need to change. Don’t you, Sir?”

“They only need to change if you want them to change,” Kurt says quietly. “Because, I promise…I’ll feel the same about you either way.”

Then Kurt pulls Blaine close.

***

Kurt wakes to the sound of a stifled whimper, and an emptiness in his arms where Blaine had been. It astounds Kurt how cold he feels without Blaine there, how natural it had been falling asleep with Blaine in his arms, how much he’d wanted to do that for so long. Looking back on it now, the conversation that led to them huddled in one another’s embrace, Blaine’s face relaxing into sleep with the knowledge that Kurt was there to protect him, take care of him, Kurt kind of wishes he’d relented and given Blaine his kiss.

He hears the noise again before he sees anything - a muffled sniffling that travels through the air and hits Kurt beneath the ribs, making his tired heart race the same way it did when he was searching Blaine’s house for Blaine, sure he was trapped and being assaulted by some asshole.

Kurt opens his eyes and sees Blaine’s seated silhouette not too far away. He’s hunched over slightly, he has his arms wrapped around himself, and he’s rocking back and forth, whimpering in the dark. Kurt blinks his eyes, confused. It wasn’t dark in the room before they fell asleep. Kurt had left the smaller vanity lights on. Plus, he’d plugged in Blaine’s nightlight. And where was…? Kurt searches left and right. He finds Blaine’s red blanket discarded at the head of the bed, his stuffed lion along with it. The way he has his arms wound around himself, pulling in like a strangling vine, his back turned to two of his most cherished comfort items, it’s like he’s refusing to touch either of them, even though he needs them.

“Hey, baby boy,” Kurt says in a groggy voice. “What’s going on? Did you have a nightmare? Can’t you sleep?”

“I…” Blaine turns his head, not far enough so that Kurt can see his face, but Kurt doesn’t need to see to know Blaine’s crying. “I’m sorry if I woke you, Sir. I needed to use the bathroom.”

“Well, did you?” Kurt asks, sitting up. “Or did the lights go out and you couldn’t?”

“I went,” Blaine admits with an edge of embarrassment. “And on my way back I…I turned out the lights.”

“Why would you do that, Blaine?” Kurt asks, rising from the bed to turn the lights back on.

“Because what kind of grown man sleeps with a _night light_?” Blaine asks, the words coming out harsh, through teeth biting hard against the idea of snapping at his Dom. But Blaine’s too overwhelmed by his inner pain to buffer them. Kurt can’t punish him for that. He has to help him focus on the good.

“Probably a lot more than you realize, baby boy,” Kurt says. “I’m pretty sure a lot of people won’t admit it, but having a light on at night is comforting. And maybe it’s not the way you do it…” Kurt bends over to push Blaine’s half-moon shaped nightlight back in its socket, filling its small corner of the room with a bright bluish-white glow, “but what about people who sleep with the television on? Or their laptop? Or with their cell phone by their head? Those are things that give people comfort. They make them feel connected.” Kurt gets to Blaine and takes his hands. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Blaine. Not a god dammed thing.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt with those wide, trusting eyes of his, and for a second, Kurt gets lost. But he needs to think straight, keep his mind on the task of helping Blaine through this. If Kurt knows how Blaine’s brain operates (and he’s beginning to) this anxiety attack isn’t over. And this room, though not the honeymoon suite at the MGM Grand, is too big for him to adequately handle his worries. He needs some place smaller, more confined.

“You know what I think you need?” Kurt asks rhetorically, rummaging through the cabinets and pulling out all the extra sheets and pillows he can find. “A fort.”

Blanket forts are one of those things, like coloring, that make Kurt want to poke himself in the eye when he mentions it, but he has to move past that. This is for Blaine, he reminds himself for the umpteenth millionth time since he’s met the guy. This is for Blaine’s sanity. Kurt’s can take a back seat for now.

Blaine watches Kurt drag over chairs, cover them with blankets, and throw down pillows in the creation of a cozy nest for Blaine to sleep in…and Blaine looks devastated.

“Sir?” Blaine tries to get Kurt’s attention while Kurt disassembles the bed, yanking off blankets and the bedspread to better pad the floor of the fort, leaving Blaine sitting on the fitted sheet. “Sir, you don’t have to…”

“Blaine, you’ll sleep much better in here,” Kurt says, arranging the red blanket for Blaine to lay on, and puts Blaine’s lion on his pillows. “You always do.”

“But…but, Sir…”

“Blaine…” Kurt’s voice is heavy with the desire for some much needed sleep. It’s early in the morning, Kurt has a lot on his mind, and in a few hours, they’ll be driving again. He just needs Blaine to do what he says. “You trust me, don’t you?” Kurt presses a little hard. “That’s why you hired me? That’s why you’ve stayed with me? That’s why you’re here with me now?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine admits. But with his eyes glued to the fort Kurt’s created for him, he looks like he might cry. “But I…”

“Blaine, get in the damn blanket fort!” Kurt says brusquely. Blaine flinches, his eyes flicking straight to the floor so quickly they almost make a noise. Kurt sees Blaine curl in, a tremor passing through him, and Kurt sighs. He puts a hand to his face, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. God, he’s exhausted, but this is no time for him to lose his temper. He takes a breath. He counts to three. He waits till his pounding heart slows, then he speaks. “Blaine,” he starts, using a more soothing tone. “It doesn’t make you _wrong_ , Blaine.”

Blaine starts to nod, but it turns into a shake of his head.

Kurt steps away from the fort. He takes Blaine’s hands. Then he does something he hasn’t done in a long time for anyone.

He kneels.

He looks up into Blaine’s face, into eyes that might not want to see Kurt this way, but with a single stare, Kurt compels him, because Blaine has to.

“It doesn’t make you wrong, Blaine,” Kurt repeats in a softer voice. “It doesn’t make you weak. None of it. The coloring and the stuffed animal and the cartoons and the juice boxes. Alright?” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hands in his. “It doesn’t make you weak, and it won’t make you lose me.”

Blaine’s breath catches so that he hiccups when he answers. “Y-you promise…Sir?”

“I promise, Blaine,” Kurt says, beginning to feel that, even without the kiss that Blaine wanted earlier, everything between them has started to change. This exchange, this is something that Kurt has never done. This side of him, wherever it’s coming from, belongs entirely to Blaine. _He_ belongs to Blaine. “I wouldn’t be here with you now if that was the case, would I?”

Blaine clamps his lips and shakes his head, harder than necessary to fend off tears.

“Now,” Kurt says, standing, tugging Blaine by his two hands, “get on in, baby boy, so we can get back to sleep.”

“You’re…you’re coming with me, Sir?” Blaine asks. “You’re going to sleep in there…with me?”

“Of course, I am,” Kurt grumbles. “All the damn blankets and pillows are in there.” He says it to hear Blaine laugh. Blaine chuckles, but it’s not strong enough. “Besides,” Kurt adds, “I want to be with you, in case you need me.”

“Alright, Sir,” Blaine says. He gets up from the stripped mattress, shuffles across the floor to the fort, and crawls inside. He sees his red blanket spread out on the floor before him, and his lion, sitting on the pillows, waiting for him. Kurt watches Blaine, how he looks like he wants to take the lion so badly, but he’s keeping himself from it, some societal conditioning over what’s right and what’s wrong rearing up to keep him from doing what he wants to do. Kurt understands how he feels, like he needs to put that lion and that blanket behind him so that he can move forward, but Kurt knows a little better. He knows that’s not true for everyone. It’s definitely not true for Blaine.

“Come on,” Kurt says, grabbing the stuffed lion for Blaine and placing it in his arms, then wrapping his own arms around Blaine and the lion together, dragging them under the covers. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us. A lot more driving, and a bit of sightseeing, before we get to our destination.”

“And where is that, Sir?” Blaine asks.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Kurt answers with a sigh, one that separates the curls on Blaine’s head. Kurt can’t tell Blaine yet, not when he’s not certain what his sub’s reaction will be. He can guess, and that’s part of the reason why he’s keeping it to himself. He’ll prepare him, of course, when the time comes. But not tonight. Not when Blaine needs more rest than they’re going to get. Kurt buries his nose in Blaine’s soft curls and takes a breath in. He hugs Blaine tight, and Blaine snuggles into him, running his nose lightly through the fur on the face of the lion in his arms. Kurt catches a peek of Blaine holding that stuffed animal so tight in his embrace, and his heart clenches to the point of cramping. “For now, baby boy, just enjoy the journey.”


End file.
